No Vade Mecum
by Gitana
Summary: Scared by the chaos in the world, Cassie tracks down the brothers but only finds Sam.


No Vade Mecum

**By:** Gitana  
**Word Count/Rating/Genre: **2,223/PG/Gen-Het  
**Disclaimer:** His name is Eric Kripke.  
**Spoilers:** Vague for 5x01 though 5x04

**Timeline:** post 5x04 "The End"  
**Characters/Pairing:** Sam Winchester; Cassie Robinson – Dean/Cassie, slight Sam/Cassie  
**Summary:** Cassie tracks the brothers down but only finds Sam.

* * *

Sam's eyes unconsciously settle on the prim row of eyelashes elegantly framing the dark inquisition of her eyes. She is relentless, and that he remembers. But her usual juggernaut train of thought is interrupted every two minutes by random sounds—mostly domestic and mundane—that a few weeks ago were but layers of silence to anyone used to living and working in busy environments.

His company fills her up with both relief and dread; she knows what he represents to the forces whose handiwork drove her out of her hometown in search of the only two people she knew could give her some answers. Consternation formed in her spine, propping her up like a hand inside a hollow puppet, her anxiety only subdued by the knowledge that he can protect her. But she didn't come all this way to be protected—she came for the truth. To delve into the inner workings of a catastrophe she feared enough to face head on. What should she expect? Is there anything she can do to help? Is there anything to be done at all? What _can_ the Winchesters do if this is truly what people are whispering amongst themselves, if this is truly the end? She really needs to know.

Cassie sighs deeply before resuming her interview-style interrogation of Sam. Her voice is clear once she finds her stride, her inflections fall back comfortably on the accustomed firmness that she likes to believe gives the impression of always being in control, and she usually is too. Cassie found out early on that being female wasn't so much the problem but her small size and modest height. Having to look up if someone was already looking down at her, as if they were listening with pupil and iris and not ears, so she learned to talk faster to keep them looking (and listening) for as long she needed. If she couldn't conduct the overture, she was going to damn well direct the finale.

Sam doesn't know her well enough to figure out how truly afraid she is if not for the constant fidgeting whenever sudden noises erupt or an unexpected movement steals away her attention. He listens carefully, wordlessly reassuring her, keeping her fingers—hovering over an invisible panic button—from squeezing.

"Can you stop it?" she asks softly, as if the mere fact that she needs to ask is enough of an answer. An answer she doesn't like, doesn't want, and can't comprehend.

Sam's jaw clenches. "We don't know. We're—it's possible, but it's complicated."

Cassie nods. _Way to not answer, Sam_, she thinks. _My goodness, I'm being unfair_. "I just don't want it to end like this."

"Maybe it doesn't have to. Cassie, you should find somewhere safe where you can stay with your mom. I'm so sorry, I can't promise anything; all I can tell you is that it's real and it's bad. I wish I could make this go away right _now_—" he pauses briefly when he catches himself veering into dangerous territory. "We're not giving up, we can't give up, I promise. Good hunters, good people, are working on this."

Cassie doesn't need a memo with endless bullet points detailing the many different ways Sam has screwed up to realize that to him, to them, this is personal. Her head dips and she tries to get back on track after getting Sam visibly upset. "I didn't mean to rattle you, I'm sorry. I'm out of my depth, losing my grip; the world is a scary place right now."

"It really is," Sam admits, apologizing. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

His tone doesn't slip past Cassie, and neither does the look in his eyes, shining with timidness and remorse, trying desperately to appear optimistic. She inhales as she searches for the eye of the storm raging inside her; she treads through the flurry of fear, panic, grief and denial to seek refuge where it's peaceful.

"My mom doesn't care. I don't think she would have noticed the sky falling on our roof," Cassie confesses. "She doesn't laugh anymore, she doesn't cry either… It may be the apocalypse, but for a lot of people the world ended a long time ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I don't think you ever get over that kind of loss (he almost tells her about John losing his mind after Mary died, but it would only makes things worse), she's lucky to have you looking out for her, keeping her grounded."

"I'm not sure it's enough—"

"It is. You are. Believe me, Cassie, you're not only enough, right now, you're everything, even if it doesn't always feel like it. In fact, I hope you never find out how true that is. . . you'll have to trust me on this one."

She thanks him with a faint smile that almost reaches her eyes.

Cassie barely registered Sam on his own when he first opened the door, and she still thinks of him as Dean's little brother for the most part, but right now he's definitely making an impression. Something about the way he talks makes her trust him. There have been moments when if she closed her eyes she could have sworn she was talking to Dean, but mostly he's different, and she's sure that if she ever sees him again she's going to think _Sam_.

"I envy you. I hate how this is all out of my hand. . . I feel so helpless and small. If there was at least something I could do besides panic. I don't like panic, I hate it. And I can't stand sitting around feeling useless waiting to die."

"You can pray, Cassie. You pray we find a way, and you ride this thing out. I know you can do it." Sam weeps inside. It doesn't matter if she can do it, she _shouldn't_ have to. No one should. He can't get past how it's his fault that she's forced to make do with half-hearted encouragements when he doesn't even believe it himself. Still he feels relieved for her when she nods in acceptance of the limited comfort he can offer.

"You sound like your brother. . . except he wouldn't ask me to pray." She allows herself to chuckle longingly, nostalgic.

It stings to hear the words, to be reminded of how they used to be.

Lying flat under broken pieces, he finds a smile to wear. Cassie doesn't notice the difference, there's no reason she should. Sam told her Dean was out on a recon mission with an expert on end-of-the-world affairs, and that as resident research geek, he hangs back looking for possible solutions, omens, and clues until it's time to fight. It's mostly true, but without proper context it's slightly above a full-fledged lie. On the other hand, it's the only version he can give her without introducing the angels and the demons that have taken their lives hostage for the past few years.

"I'm sorry he's not here right now." Sam doesn't need to be an expert on relationships to understand that when Cassie's eyes wander around the room she's looking for signs of Dean, for the comfort his presence can provide.

"At least I know he's okay. I always worry I'm going to get one of those phone calls. Not that anyone would call me, we haven't seen each other in forever, but I worry about it every day. I'm glad you're fine too, by the way."

Sam laughs, for real this time. "Thanks."

"I should be heading back, it's getting late."

Sam watches Cassie reach for her purse and all of a sudden he gets impatient. It's more than late. It's dark outside, barely twilight anymore. If anyone or any _thing_ catches her leaving their room she'd be an easy target, untrained and scared. And Dean would kill him once and for all.

"I'm driving you," Sam announces. Cassie has a hotel room for the night and her flight leaves early in the morning.

"I'm driving a rental, how would you get back?"

"I'll manage."

"No." Her voice drops like a judge's gavel after the final ruling.

"Then stay. I'll make myself invisible, go away for a while if you'd like."

"Sam, I'll be fine." Miss independent doesn't like ultimatums, but she's had a rough day and she's wavering.

"Cassie, I'm sorry, but either I drive you or you stay." Overturned.

She finally drops her all-purpose bag to the floor, taking a few seconds to laugh at herself, at this weird dance they're doing like they know each other, like they _don't_ know each other but someone knows them both, and they owe him this. "You're quite lucky I'm rusty at this, you know that, right?"

"Yes, I do." He bites his tongue to keep himself from adding a "ma'am" to that. He's depressed, not yet entirely suicidal. Sam used to be annoyingly polite with people he barely knew. He's out of the habit, but sometimes the custom comes back when he doesn't know what else to say, when he can't curse or pull rank. So he lets his last statement linger, orphaned and perhaps a little awkward, but honest.

The first time Sam met Cassie he didn't see a girl, he witnessed a miracle. His brother had loved someone other than him, other than his parents, and she loved him back. They were building something, until Dean loved her too much to lie any longer. It could've been a future and Sam sees that when he looks at Cassie right now with no hope for any tomorrow. Sam further realizes that when Dean fell for her he wasn't kidding — Cassie's no joke. After talking to her for over two hours he gained perspective, he saw something he hadn't before from watching the shy interaction of old lovers reunited under strange and unrelated circumstances. She takes time and effort to win over which means Dean wanted the task, reveled in the victory of an onerous seduction. He is retroactively proud and happy for his brother, happier than before when he didn't fully understand. Sam really likes this girl, what she means, what she once meant.

She curls herself alongside the shadowy dent of Dean's body, the mess of cream-colored covers betraying his last position in enough detail to mimic.

Sam doesn't sleep. He sits on his chair overlooking the bed area. The screensaver comes up to remind him he's trailing off, not really working. Cassie shifts again. She can't sleep either. She's too busy trying to swallow the mild sobs caused by the proximity of Dean's sleep on her skin. She remembers the first night they slept on the same bed and she wanted to sleep and he wanted to talk. She'd laugh about it once she got to know him better, recognizing the anomaly of such an occurrence, feeling special. She had only managed to shut him up by shoving him back with a kiss so full of passion it left him breathless. Now that she thinks about it, it was probably the only time Dean hesitated in kissing her back. "I love surprises," he said. She pushed him back playfully, but before she could try to sleep again his hands had found her waist, he leaned in close, "And I like _you_." He kissed her until her eyes closed, lulled her to sleep with swollen lips and ardent tongue. She woke up in love.

Sam ambles over to Cassie. "Bad dream?"

"A really good one," she replies. He needs nothing more.

He's somewhat shaky, but she instantly makes room for him, and he relaxes. He means to lie silently to himself in order to give her a sense of security and proxy. Smart as she is she can't help but wonder if he's looking for the same thing. He doesn't really know why he's doing it other than he feels responsible for Cassie's distress. Sam realizes it might not be a great idea, but he doesn't have much experience in ex-girlfriend etiquette. He rarely deals this closely with any of Dean's girlfriends; his relationships don't usually survive the night or crossover into 'untouchable' territory, where Cassie is. She scoots over and places a hand on his chest. There are enough buttons undone for his shirt to be clutched where the fabric is folding over itself into a rumpled triangle shape, and she grips tight. He crosses his arms around her and she hisses his name under her breath, already half asleep.

It's been a while since overflowing curls ran down his arm and Sam doesn't know exactly what he misses from his previous life anymore, but he's certain that being able to help someone fall asleep by holding them is at least one. The trust she's showing him by allowing it kills him a little. He dozes off a couple of times before quickly recovering, alarmed at the thought that Dean might arrive at any moment. But he knows he won't, and a few minutes later, sleep finally topples him over.

_the end_


End file.
